


Síofra

by sandalwoodbox



Category: Der Rattenfänger von Hameln | The Pied Piper of Hamelin (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Child Death, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Foster Care, Gen, POV First Person, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Present Tense, Psychological Horror, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandalwoodbox/pseuds/sandalwoodbox
Summary: If you're counting on magical help to colonize a new world, you'll pay the piper one way or the other.





	Síofra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamkist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamkist/gifts).



I’m thirteen and I live on – I live on a planet. It’s bad luck to say the name. I don’t know why the original settlers who moved here chose a name like that but they did and now here we are.

My case worker at Child Protective Services is named Gerald. They’re a very young adult, about fifty, and they make the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten. And I’ve eaten a  _ lot _ of pancakes – everyone makes me pancakes the first morning, for luck. (It doesn’t hurt that flour is still relatively easy to come by.) Gerald’s older sister runs a dairy farm and slips them extra butter from time to time, which is why theirs are the best.

Gerald is driving me to my new placement. “I think you’ll like this one,” they say. “She’s a scientist who works for the government. You like science, right?”

I stare out the window at the houses we’re passing and rub the rowan charm I’ve had as long as I can remember. There are a few groups of houses with clean cars in the driveway, mowed lawns, even neighbors out and about who wave at us, but most of them are abandoned and overgrown, paint peeling, porches sagging. “Has she ever had any kids staying with her before?”

They shake their head. “She just got pulled in the lottery for the first time with you. Listen, I’m sorry I won’t be able to stick around this time. I’ve got two more placements to do today. When it rains it pours, you know?”

“How many people lived here?” I ask. This city is much bigger than anywhere that CPS has put me before.

“In Lovelace? About a million,” they say. “Now it’s less than three hundred thousand.”

Around us, the houses fade out and are replaced with skyscrapers and apartment buildings. “Oh, there’s the interstellar bus terminal,” Gerald says, pointing out a low, dingy concrete structure. Through the full-length windows I can see rows of plastic seats, service counters, and signs with names of planets I’d read about – Earth, Mars, Alphacen. “When I was your age, I went to Earth on a field trip from this very terminal! Earth is pretty similar to here, but everything’s much older. We’ve only been on this planet for a couple hundred years. Oh, and the sky is  _ blue _ .”

“Are the fae on other planets too?”

Gerald opens their mouth and closes it again, looking uncomfortable. “Well, ahhh…” they say finally. “How much do you know about interstellar travel?”

“I know that humans came here from Earth on buses. But I also know that buses aren’t made for space travel, and don’t go very fast, and Earth is hundreds of light years away. Um…” I trail off.

“Well…” Gerald says. “You’re right that Earth is very far away through space. It would take over a thousand years to travel that distance with the fastest ships we know how to build. And that’s not even including the effects of time dilation. So, there’s no way using  _ technology _ to travel between the stars. The only practical method of interstellar travel is, ah,” they pause and then whisper, “Through fae mounds. It takes however long the fae want it to take, no matter the distance. But the fae won’t let us through any more.” Then in a louder-than-normal voice, they say, “Oh look! Here we are at the university.” They turn left and suddenly we’re in an area completely different than anything I’ve ever seen before. There are long lawns with brick paths on either side, lined with old trees; low staircases half as wide as the buildings they lead to; columns, fountains, and towers with arched windows.

“Why are the fae taking children?”

Gerald laughs nervously. “We, ah, really shouldn’t be talking about this. It’s bad luck. Ah… anyway here we are. Great.” We pull up in front of a small house with a yard and an apple tree and a white picket fence and a lawn that’s been mowed recently. The front door is bright green. Gerald knocks on it.

“Coming,” I hear a voice call from inside. After a moment a woman opens the door, wearing a flannel jacket and blue jeans. For some reason I thought she’d have glasses. “Oh, there you are! Come in! I’m Bianca.” She shakes both our hands and beckons us inside. There’s another kid sitting at the kitchen table – maybe four years old? – chewing on a stuffed dragon’s wing. “This is Forrest,” she says.

“Hwwo,” he mumbles through the toy, looking at me.

Gerald frowns. “I didn’t know you already had a foster kid,” they say.

“Oh, I don’t. He’s mine,” she says. “There haven’t been any takings around here since he was born, so he hasn’t been placed in protection.”

“Hm.” Gerald’s head is cocked, and they’re squinting at her. “Have we met before?”

She blinks. “I don’t think so.”

They stare for a moment longer, then tsk and shrug. “I’d stay, but I have a packed day ahead. Here’s my number if you need anything.” And with that they’re gone.

“Do you wanna see my skyscwaper?” Forrest asks. Before I can say anything he gets off the window bench, takes my hand, and leads me to another room, dragging his dragon behind him. He takes some blocks out of a box and stacks them one on top of another until they’re as tall as he is. He looks at me, beaming, and I give him a round of applause. He takes my hand again and leads me to a room with a bunk bed. “This is where you’re staying,” he says. “I haf the bottom bed b’cause I’m little.”

 

In the morning, Bianca makes pancakes. They’re not as good as Gerald’s, of course, but I’d put them in my top… ten? Plus she has real syrup somehow, which is awesome! We sit in the kitchen nook and eat together. Forrest has a big plastic placemat and it is a  _ mess _ . I keep glancing over at him.

“How long has it been since you saw another kid?” Bianca asks, leaning back and taking a sip of tea.

I shrug. “A few years maybe.” She nods and looks at me expectantly. I sigh. “They were about Forrest’s age, maybe a little younger. We ran into them at the grocery store.”

She nods. “That must’ve been in the north, then.”

“Yeah,” I say. “How did you know?”

“People around here would report you if you took a child to the grocery store,” she says. “They say it’s bad luck to let a kid be seen outside the house.”

I nod and take a slice of my pancakes. That’s good to know. It’s hard to keep track of what adults believe sometimes.

“So,” Bianca asks, “how did you sleep?”

“P’tty g’d,” I say around a mouthful, roll my eyes, and swallow. “There’s a machine in the room that’s kind of noisy.”

Bianca nods. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t have the resources to make it quieter.”

“You made it? What does it do?”

“It… ah… disrupts quantum anomalies?” It must be obvious from my face that I don’t have any idea what that means. “The fae use something we call quantum anomalies to come into our world and to exist here. Or at least that’s what we think based on our research over the past 30 years. The machine blocks them. It’s sort of like, if someone is trying to talk to you, and someone else shouts really loud to keep you from hearing what the first person is saying. It should keep everyone in this house safe from them.”

I’ve put down my silverware and am openly gaping at her. “That’s...  _ amazing! _ Why doesn’t everyone have one?”

She sighs and looks at Forrest, who is pushing a pancake boat through a sea of syrup. “I wish they could. The university refused my grant proposal for researching the technology. So I did the best I could for myself in my spare time when I decided to have Forrest.”

“Well, it seems like it’s worked so far.”

Her eyes glimmer. “Honestly, I don’t know for sure. We might have just gotten lucky. Even when things were fine with the fae, they never let scientists study them up close, so we don’t know that much about them. Nothing we  _ do _ know contradicts the hypothesis behind the machine, but… here, let me take your plate.”

 

A week later, I wake up in the middle of the night to a thunderous silence. It feels like there’s something pressing on my eardrums. I say, “Forrest?” and I can barely hear myself. There are shadows dancing on the ceiling a few feet from my face, which is odd since it’s pitch dark. And underneath the silence I can hear a high pitched piping.

My eyes go wide and I pull the covers over myself like it’ll help. Nothing happens, though the piping is still drilling into my eardrums. At last I pull the covers back a bi–  _ there’s a pair of burning red eyes staring directly at me _ .

I throw myself back against the wall, clutching my rowan charm, and the eyes dissolve into smoke and tinkling laughter. At the same moment, below me, the screaming starts. Muffled, but it’s there. Even after it stops, even after the pressure lets up and the pitch black stops dancing, I sit pressed against the wall, my heart beating fast and too strong, listening to the sound of the jammer in the corner.

It feels like days until Bianca pops open the door, flicks on the lights, and calls out a cheery, “Good morning! I’ve made omelettes!” I can’t move, how could I? Eventually she comes back, more cautious. “Good morning?” Silence, then a sob. And another. I hear her thump softly to the ground as they keep coming, wracking her body. The omelettes are cold by the time we eat.

 

“What the hell were you thinking, Bianca?! Putting something like that in Forrest’s room. There’s no telling what effect it would have. For all you know you  _ attracted _ the fae.” Kenwyn, one of Bianca’s colleagues, is on the other end of a video call, but the screen is facing away from me so I can’t see his expression. He sounds mad, and personally I think he’s being a bit of an asshole.

Bianca buries her face in her hands, and presses her lips together. “I didn’t have a choice, Kenwyn! Forrest didn’t deserve this. And I knew enough to actually try to do something real about it for once. What did you want me to do?”

“You could have gotten funding to do a real study if your idea had merit.”

Bianca laughs sharply. “Yeah right. Funding isn’t based on merit, it’s all bullshit politics.”

“Okay, you’re throwing my words back at me and that’s fair. But you could have at least  _ told _ me. You could’ve let me help.”

She sniffs and wipes her sleeve across her eyes. “Look, I just need you to come over, okay? I tried to look over the data yesterday, and I just… can’t. I need you to come over.”

Kenwyn sighs. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

I answer the door when he arrives, fifteen minutes later. He’s a little older than her, mid-sixties I think, and he has a blanket with him, so I let him in. “She’s in there,” I say, pointing to the living room, where Bianca is collapsed on the couch. He nods and goes in.

“Hey, there,” he says. “I brought a blanket.”

She sniffles and reaches for it ineffectually. He lays the blanket over her, goes to the kitchen to put a kettle on, and comes back and pulls up a chair.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says. “This isn’t your fault.”

“It might be,” she whispers. “You were right.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he says. “It’s the fae, not you. They’re the ones doing this to us.”

Bianca makes a noncommittal noise. “Why are you sitting down, anyway? You should be looking at the data from the other night. Maybe if we can figure out what went wrong–”

“The data can fucking wait,” he says. “I’m making you some chamomile tea, and if it’s all right with you I’ll stay here on the couch for a few days to make you and the… foster kid you apparently have?” He glances over at me. “Make both of you meals.” Bianca starts to protest, until he adds, “And I’ll look at the data if I have free time, okay?” She nods and draws her body together. He pats her shoulder and comes over to me.

“Did she already call CPS?” he asks. I shake my head. “Okay, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. Are you doing all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie. I don’t know how I feel exactly, but it’s definitely not ‘all right’. Why would they take a four year old and leave me? It doesn’t make any sense.

 

Gerald stops by a few days later. Bianca is up and about, but she still hasn’t showered or changed her clothes, and her face is simultaneously red from crying and haggard from not enough sleep. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” they say when she opens the door.

“Thanks,” she says hollowly. “Can I...  help you?”

“I just need to talk with my client, if that’s all right?” (Their ‘client’ is what they call me.)

“Yeah, sure.” She goes back to the living room and sits on a chair, staring out at the back yard.

“Hi, Gerald,” I say.

“Hey there,” Gerald says. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” I lie again. I still don’t really know what else to say. I’ve woken up every night from dreams of shadows dancing to the music of pipes, and red eyes laughing at me, but there’s nothing Gerald can do about that, and it’ll probably go away on its own.

They nod slowly. “Okay, well, let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about. I wanted to make sure you know that I’m here for you.” They pause until I nod understanding. “Okay. So there’s been a bit of a snag finding a place for you to go next. I’m going to keep looking, but for now you’re going to have to stay here. Okay?” I nod. “Okay. I’m going to head out, but you have my number if you need anything. Okay?” I nod again.

Kenwyn is leaning against the fridge listening and as Gerald leaves he jogs to catch up. I stay by the entrance to the kitchen so I can hear them.

“What’s the problem?” Kenwyn asks. “Usually CPS would have a replacement home by now.”

There’s a brief hesitation before Gerald says, “There’s, ah, a bit of concern from people that the fae might have a special interest in a child who has witnessed a taking, especially so soon after their placement. They’re… less willing to host someone like that, especially if there are children in the area already. Don’t worry,” they add hastily. “We’ll find a spot. It just takes time to go through the lottery process and we can legally only ask one home at a time.”

“This is bullshit. You move these kids from place to place like it helps them, then when they experience massive trauma suddenly they have to stay put in the place where it happened? What the hell kind of a social worker are you?”

Gerald makes a pained noise. “Look, I’m doing my best, okay? Besides, I already checked in with my client and everything is fine.”

Kenwyn snorts. “Well, goodbye then.” He waits until Gerald is outside and slams the door, just a little. He walks into the kitchen muttering to himself and stops when he sees me standing there. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah.”

“Mother _ fucker _ . I can’t believe they’d try to give me the runaround that you’re ‘fine’. They’re just trying to avoid the work that would come from acknowledging what fucking happened.”

Bianca appears at the end of the counter, leaning unsteadily against it. “Or they’re just trying to live with themselves. They’re constrained by the system. It’s easier to believe the obvious lie than to acknowledge that what we’ve been doing for thirty years doesn’t work.”

I just sit there. I don’t even know where to start. Finally, staring down at my lap, I manage to say, “But I  _ am _ fine.”

Kenwyn glances at Bianca and raises his eyebrows. She nods and crosses her arms. He says, “Look, when you scream at night, we hear you. It’s… not that big of a house.”

“Oh,” I say. Of course they do. I’m so stupid.

“But I’d have known it was a lie even without that. You experienced something terrible. The only way you’d be ‘fine’ is if you were a complete psychopath. And you’re not. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“We both are,” Bianca added.

I try to imagine what it would even be like to tell anyone about the red eyes floating in front of me from a smokey face, ready to tear me away from life in an instant and then instead vanishing to the sound of piping and screams. The corners of my rowan charm dig into my hand as I grasp it tightly. My breath is coming faster and  _ faster _ .

“Hey,” Kenwyn says, leaning forward. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry if it was too much to bring that up right now. Only if you want to, okay?”

I squeeze my eyes tight and pull my knees to my chest, nod, and manage, “Okay.”

 

It takes me a few days to work up the courage. Finally I walk up to Bianca, who’s sitting in her chair in the living room, and say, “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes slowly focus on me, and she says, “What?”

“This was my fault. I’m sorry.” Tears are dripping down my face.

She leans forward and gently clasps my arms. “This is not your fault. Why would you even think that?”

“Everything was fine the last place I went, then I arrived and someone was taken nearby. And here everything was fine until I arrived and then Forrest…” I can speak through the lump in my throat. I swallow. “And now nobody will take me because the fae are following me.”

Bianca sighs. “Look, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Can I tell you a story?”

I nod.

“Once upon a time, on Earth, there was a scientist named Skinner who did an experiment with pigeons. He built a machine that fed them at precise intervals, then observed their behavior and concluded that they had developed superstitions. He said they believed repeating certain actions would cause food to appear.”

I think about this. “So you’re saying that people who believe in superstitions are as stupid as pigeons?”

“No, I’m saying sometimes we’re too smart and proud for our own good.” She leans back in her chair. “The human brain is built to see patterns. Skinner saw patterns in the birds’ behavior and thought he had an explanation for them. But thirty years later people tried to reproduce his experiment and realized that the pigeons’ actions were basically completely random.

“The point I’m trying to make is that it’s dangerous to try to judge another species based on our standards. The fae randomly take children all the time, and people can’t help but see patterns in it and try to act on them. Hey.” She looks directly into my eyes. “What I’m saying is: this didn’t have anything to do with you. Okay?”

I nod, but I’m not sure I believe her.

 

Gerald picks me up the next morning, quieter than usual. As we drive away, Gerald says, “I’m sorry that we put you with that woman. It was my mistake. I should’ve caught it, but I had those other cases on my mind and I just... messed up.”

I stare at them. That was not what I was expecting. “She was one of the nicest guardians I’ve ever had. And it’s not her fault that Forrest got… taken from the same room as me.”

Gerald makes a disgusted noise. “She’s just an unpleasant person with no sense of decency. Did she tell you about her research?”

“A little. She studies the fae?”

“You could say that. She publishes a report every year with statistics about how effective various methods of protection are against the fae.” Tears start streaming down their face. “She thinks she’s better than us but she doesn’t have  _ any _ idea what it’s like to have the lives of so many children in your hands year after year. We’re doing our best to protect you and then she comes in out of nowhere with no experience and says we don’t know how to do our fucking jobs and we don’t give a damn about our clients.” They slam their palm into the steering wheel. “I can’t  _ believe  _ I didn’t recognize her name. I can’t believe they even let her in the lottery. Someone like that doesn’t deserve to have a kid.”

 

Firuz presses a mug of hot chocolate into my hands. “You like hot chocolate, right?” he asks, brushing his wrinkled hands off on his floury apron. Gerald dropped me off here about five seconds ago.

“All children like hot chocolate,” says Anatoly. He’s washing some mixing bowls.

Firuz pulls off his apron and hangs it on a hook. “You’re generalizing,”

I take a long drink of the hot chocolate and don’t say anything. It’s warm and smooth and has marshmallows in it.

“See?” Anatoly says to Firuz, then turns to me and asks. “How do you like it?”

It takes me a little longer to want to put down the mug. “Very good,” I say. Anatoly motions at his upper lip and I lick off the chocolate mustache I’ve given myself. “It’s very rich.”

Anatoly walks over Firuz and cozies up to him for a kiss. “That’s my Firuz’s specialty. Best hot chocolate on Síofra.”

My eyes go wide. Firuz tsks and says, “You know I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not going to let them scare me into not saying the name of the planet I live on,” Anatoly says. “They’ve already taken enough from me.”

“But think about the child.”

“What I say doesn’t make any difference, you know that.”

“It makes a difference,” Firuz says stiffly. “Just because nothing…” He glances at me, then, “Let’s talk about this later.”

Anatoly looks at me, too, and shrugs. The oven chimes, and Firuz pulls out a tray of cookies.

 

Later that day, Anatoly and Firuz are gardening, and I wander around their house. The living room is my favorite. It has a soft red carpet, a big couch, some swinging chairs hanging from the  ceiling, and a big window looking out on their yard. Plus there’s Anatoly’s VR rig. I pull the visor onto my head and call up an adventure game. The beginning’s pretty fast for me – it’s a popular game and I’ve played this part a few times. With any luck I’ll be here long enough to finish. Eventually I get thirsty, so I pause the game and take the visor off.

I must have been playing longer than I thought. It’s gotten dark outside. But I can’t even see starlight, moonlight, the light of the city. I can’t see the couch or the carpet. I can’t see my hands, or feel where they are, or move them. Shadows are dancing in the pitch black. In the distance I hear the sound of pipes, faint but getting louder as they approach. I yell, “Forrest?” into the darkness but there’s no response, just the sound of bells jingling on a dancer’s ankles. And then somewhere below me the screaming starts, and it’s Forrest screaming, and it’s me screaming.

And I hear Anatoly’s voice distantly saying my name. Slowly that comes into focus. I’m pressed against the back of the couch, not a wall. The visor is lying at my feet. Anatoly and Firuz are hovering a few feet away. My shirt is damp with sweat, drenched down the back, and my hand is bleeding a little from clutching my charm so tightly.

As he notices my eyes focus on him, Anatoly lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re all right.”

Firuz says, “Clearly not, that was a flashback.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. Sorry. I’m just wound tight.” Firuz clapped his hands together. “I’m going to make some more hot chocolate, sound good?”

Anatoly sits next to me on the couch. “I have those too, you know. Flashbacks.”

“You do?”

He nods. “My son was taken by the fae a month after this all started. I heard him screaming from his room, and when I ran in, the room was full of shadows, and there was this strange music playing... It sticks with you.”

I don’t know what do say to that so we sit there silently while Firuz clatters around in the kitchen. Eventually Anatoly says, “Did you know that at first none of us even know what was going on?”

I shake my head. “People usually don’t like to talk about it. It’s bad luck?”

“Yeah, people love feeling like they’re protecting children.” He rolls his eyes and makes a dismissive noise. “It’s nothing that dramatic really. The police knew there was an uptick in the number of missing children right away, but there wasn’t a clear link between the cases. Sometimes there were clumps, sometimes an entire city would be spared. And there wasn’t always a dramatic taking like my son’s. The news reports were all over the place. There were stories about neglectful or murderous parents. Some people said the kids were being taken by slavers. Some said they just found off-world job recruitment ads and ran off. Things were pretty hard back then.”

“So how did you figure out it was the fae?” I ask.

“Well, interstellar travel was disrupted right around then,” he said. “So it  _ was _ another theory people had. And then journalists got their hands on some government documents that blew the whole thing wide open.”

“The government?” I say incredulously.

“Yeah, right? There’s this quote I really like. How little – ah… Firuz, honey,” he calls. “What’s that quote I like about politics?”

Firuz brings over a few mugs of hot chocolate and passes them out. “You know, if you have to memorize classic Earth sayings, the least you could do is actually memorize them instead of repeating them five hundred times while I’m trying to sleep and then forgetting.” Anatoly takes his hand and kisses it. He sighs and perches on the couch’s armrest, arm around Anatoly’s shoulders. “‘An nescis, mi fili, quantilla prudentia mundus regatur?’ Or in English, ‘Do you not know, my son, with how little wisdom the world is governed?’ Axel Gustafsson Oxenstierna af Södermöre, 1648. Basically, assume people are incompetent until proven otherwise, no matter how high their office is.”

Anatoly nods. “When you settle a new planet you always set up a contract with the fae for interstellar transit and assistance with terraforming. In our case, the contract was signed a couple hundred years ago, and when time came to pay up, the government decided that it would be better to quietly declare the contract null and void because of the fae’s quality of work and use the money to like, buy a new carpet or something.”

“I think they gave us all a few cents off our taxes,” Firuz corrected.

My jaw is hanging open. “But – but – they broke a  _ contract? _ With the  _ fae? _ What were they  _ thinking? _ ”

Anatoly spreads his arms helplessly. “Everything had been fine for two hundred years. I guess we all kind of forgot what we were dealing with.”

“I think this is enough for now,” Firuz said. “It’s getting late. I’ll make dinner. You should watch something silly and get your mind off things so you can sleep tonight.”

 

I’ll be honest. Firuz is not a good cook. His pancakes were preeeetty flat. He says they’re a special kind called “crepes” but I think he just added too much water and then made that up. They still tasted okay, of course. It’s flour and sugar and eggs. Hard to mess up too badly.

They’re both gone all day at work. Their actual professions aren’t useful any more – Anatoly was an English professor and Firuz did career counseling – and they’re only in their late sixties, so they’ve been mandated jobs doing farm labor. Firuz left sandwiches in the fridge for me.

I go onto the internet with the VR visor and call up the first press conference Bianca gave after children started disappearing. She practically looks my age, wearing a lab coat and standing in front of a room of reporters. Kenwyn is standing behind her and a little to the left.

“Good evening,” she says. “I’d like to thank you all for being here today. Dr. Trenowden and I have made an important discovery after analyzing data from the past year of fae takings.” She goes through all the details I already know – random takings, no effect of preventative measures. At the end, she asks for questions.

“Does your study take into account children who were taken into space?”

“Four children were taken into space on separate vessels,” Bianca says. “Of those, we’ve confirmed that three were taken. The fourth has not been taken last we heard, but we have no reason to think that they won’t be, eventually.

“Are you saying that the case workers at Child Protective Services are doing pointless work?”

“I don’t think it’s pointless to take care of children, but if you mean their work to protect children from the fae, our study clearly shows that none of the methods currently in use have had a statistically significant impact on whether or not a child is taken by the fae.”

The room erupts in shouting and all the reporters jump to their feet. Bianca chooses one, and the rest slowly simmer down.

“If things continue as they are, how many children should we expect to survive to adulthood? What is the long-term impact going to be?” 

Bianca clears her throat. “Ah – this has only been going on for a year, so it’s hard to know what the fae will do in the future. I’m not sure–”

“But if they keep taking children the way they have been, fifty percent every year?”

She clears her throat again. “Ah. Again, it’s hard to know what the fae will do in the future. But we do know that the determining factor seems to be whether a person was under eighteen as of a year ago, not what age they are now. If the fae keep taking our children at this rate, our projections show that no children born in a given year from now on will survive to the age of eighteen.”

“Isn’t that a little alarmist?”

Kenwyn steps forward and leans into the mic. “You think that’s fucking alarmist? You need to listen to her. If the fae keep going like this, and we don’t change what we’re doing, we’ll be a planet of senior citizens  _ only _ in less than fifty years!”

The room erupts into shouting. Bianca tries to quiet the crowd of reporters, but it doesn’t work. After a couple minutes, Kenwyn puts a hand on her shoulder, and they walk off the stage.

 

I’ve been staying with Anatoly and Firuz for a few months now, and I have to admit: Crepes are growing on me. It’s like pancakes but the toppings go on the  _ inside. _ Whoever invented crepes: thank you. (Don’t get me wrong, Gerald’s pancakes are better. And Bianca’s too. Crepes just aren’t the worst.)

Anatoly and Firuz have a show they like watching; it’s a “news” cast where Chad, an “expert” on the fae, explains various methods of protection against the fae. One week it’s salt: “Draw an unbroken line of salt along every threshold into the house – windows, doors, chimneys – and this is of critical importance: use natural sea salt from Earth,  _ not _ iodized salt from here.” Next week it’s iron: “The ancient peoples of earth well knew the power that cold iron has over the fae. Of course nowadays everything’s made of adulterated materials –  _ alloys _ – so they’re not as effective. Not to mention that  _ Earth _ iron is inherently more effective, being from the homeland of the fae.”

Somehow, whatever Earth-produced material you absolutely  _ needed _ to have to protect a child, Chad happened to have an exclusive stockpile of it – but you can have a piece of it for $19.95 (plus shipping). And he always signs off by saying: “If you follow my rules, your child will  _ never _ be taken. And if they’re taken, then  _ somebody  _ wasn’t following my rules.”

Anatoly and Firuz like to hate-watch it from time to time and laugh at the incomprehensible stupidity of the people who trust him. But for me, it just reminds me that I’m doomed no matter what anyone tries to do.

But if there’s nothing you can do, you do what you can, I guess. I’ve started learning to swordfight using the VR rig. If I can just get one lucky swing in, maybe I can hold them off long enough for Anatoly and Firuz to arrive.

I don’t look up the research on whether anyone’s ever tried this before.

 

A few weeks before my fourteenth birthday, I’m standing on the front lawn practicing sword forms with a stick when I see a kid about ten blocks away, running towards me and waving with both arms. I wave back and go back to my forms. Sure, it’s exciting, but it’ll take them a while to get here, and who knows how much time I’ll have to practice before the fae come for me?

Just thinking about them, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I sigh and pause, glancing down the road. The other kid’s only two blocks away now. I must’ve been distracted by forms for longer than I thought. As they approach, I can tell they’re around my age! My heart skips a beat at the idea of meeting someone who I can really  _ talk _ to about this whole messed up planet. And then it skips another beat because they’re not just my age – they’re my height. And they have my hair color. And – goosebumps shoot down my arms – they have my face.

It’s not another kid. It’s another  _ me. _ Its eyes are brown, not red, but this has to be a fae.

It’s less than a block away now. I spin around and run for the door. If I can just get inside, maybe it’ll at least need to come back another time if it wants to take me away quietly. If I can just–

I make it up the front stairs before I feel a hand grab my ankle and pull, hard, throwing me back onto the lawn. But I still have my… stick? I scramble to my feet and go on guard. “Anatoly! Firuz! Help!”

The other me is standing at the foot of the steps, its head cocked. It takes a single step towards me and suddenly we’re face to face. I try to swing my stick but my arms won’t move. The fae leans in, a smile spreading slowly, slowly, opening to reveal triangular teeth. Its breath is cold and smells like wet earth.

It stands there for what feels like ten minutes, flicking a long tongue across its teeth. Tears come into my eyes. Firuz and Anatoly didn’t hear me. They aren’t coming. And even if they do they’ll just find nothing but a pile of clothes.

The fae throws back its head and laughs, and says as if in response, “A piper does not simply play and go; a payment must be made for every show.” It pulls out a pipe and plays a merry tune, dancing in a circle around me. Bells jingle around its ankles in time with its steps. It slowly makes its way towards the front door, and I find myself lifted off the ground and pulled inexorably along behind it.

Just then, the door opens and Anatoly pokes his head out. “Hey, I heard you calling?”

My eyes go wide. “Anatoly! Help me!” I try again to struggle out of the fae’s hold but my bonds are immovable.

Meanwhile, Anatoly is looking right  _ at _ the fae and  _ smiling _ . After a moment he says, “Yeah, I can ask Firuz about making some more hot chocolate.” He looks both ways, then says conspiratorially, “It’s nice to have someone around who likes it as much as I do!” And he goes back inside.

The fae turns to me and steps back into a bow, saying, “Here I am and here I will remain. You will not speak with anyone again.” And with that it drags me inside.

 

For the next two weeks I’m inseparable from the fae. During the week, Anatoly and Firuz are at the farm most of the time, leaving me completely alone with it. Mostly it dances to its own music. Sometimes it takes me to the park down the street, takes out a sharp knife with a golden handle, whittles small creatures out of wood, and pipes them alive to dance for it until the friction is too much and they burst into flames and burn to ash. When Anatoly and Firuz are around, or when Gerald comes to check in on me, I instead get to watch the fae’s pantomime of my life.

And sure enough, no matter how much I scream or cry or beg, nobody notices a thing.

I gained two things over that time, though. First, an overwhelming smell. It turns out that when you’re in constant fear for your life and you’re not able to shower, that’s a thing that happens. And second, a tiny sliver of hope.

Every night, the fae cleans its fingernails with its golden knife, tucks it away, and crawls three times in a circle on the bed before falling asleep. And no matter how much I scream or cry or beg, it doesn’t wake up. I think I moved a finger last night.

 

It’s two nights later that I get the chance. I manage to pry myself off the wall finger by finger, then limb by limb, and suddenly I pop free and sneak to the fae’s side. I pull out its knife. It doesn’t stir. “This is for Forrest,” I whisper, and plunge the knife up behind the back of its skull. It relaxes instantly on the bed. I leave the knife there and run to Anatoly and Firuz’s room, but they don’t wake up. Still, maybe I can leave a message for someone about what happened before the fae come for me again? Bianca! I pull on the VR visor and record something quick, I don’t even remember what. It doesn’t matter.

Because that’s when I wake up. Still trapped on the wall. The fae is sitting opposite me, leaned up against my desk. “Sweet dreams, oh human child, of freedom’s bliss?” It rises and crosses the distance with a single step, putting its forehead against mine, grabbing the back of my neck, and its eyes burn red. “To us you humans are like… little worms. You inch your measly inch but never learn.” And just as abruptly it turns away and gathers a pile of clothes. I’m dragged along behind, like always.

It’s a Saturday, so Anatoly is making breakfast. “Hey,” he calls as we pass by. “Could you do some weeding in the garden today?” Then a pause. “Thanks, I appreciate it!”

The fae looks over its shoulder at me and bares its teeth, then heads out the back door to the garden. A few weeds launch out of the ground and arrange themselves in a pile. It lays my clothing out next to the pile in an artful imitation of a vanished body. It stands back for a moment, admiring its work, and then snaps its fingers. And I hear the sounds of my own screams from the past weeks, but not coming out of my own mouth. Firuz and Anatoly come running out of the house towards the pile of clothes, but the fae has already turned and started walking away, so I don’t see what happens.

After a few blocks it stops and turns to me. I’ve been thinking, and I say, “Do you know – did I ever really meet Forrest?”

It gets a puzzled look on its face. “If it has ever known the forest trees? Why does it ask things so bizarre of me?” It cocks its head to one side, then the other, then shrugs and draws its knife. “A payment promised must be made, it’s true. The debt goes on, but now  _ your _ price is through.”

And the last thing I see is the sharp blade coming towards me.


End file.
